Emotional Rescue
by Blood Dark Sun
Summary: T. J. decides to visit the Smithsonian's Captain America exhibit, and ends up inadvertently doing his good deed for the decade. Rated T for language. Note, for some reason I can't select T. J. as a character while submitting the story.


_A little crossover crack. Post-Winter Soldier, post-Political Animals. _

…

**Emotional Rescue.**

T. J. was bored, _again_, so he slipped on his jacket and headed to the Smithsonian. These days, he found a strange peace in viewing the art treasures on display. Sometimes he'd stand in front of a piece for an entire hour, dreaming of the visions that had prompted the artist, trying to imagine the training it took to create something like that. Sometimes, the beautiful echoes of a Chopin nocturne would float through his mind as he gazed, calming him and uplifting him. Things were better now: he could understand and appreciate these works, just as he could enjoy spending hours at the piano himself, without looking for something more dangerous to take the edge off his annoyance with life.

But today he had a different destination in mind. He wanted to go view the Captain America exhibit. _Superheroes, my ass,_ he'd thought, but his mother had recently assured him they were real people. And his dad! Bud had turned out to be a complete Captain America fanboy; once he got started talking about the supersoldier, they couldn't shut him up. T. J. snorted in remembrance.

So today he planned to walk carefully through the exhibit, reading the whole thing, and see if it was convincing enough to believe. Of course, if it was all some elaborate 1940s hoax, it'd be easy to spot. He lit a cigarette as he sauntered down the Mall towards the National Air and Space Museum.

Wasn't so bad here, today. Usually this building was packed with gangs of schoolchildren on field trips. The place ordinarily gave him the creeps, and he hated wandering around with all these shining young examples of American normalcy. T. J. swore briefly and crushed the cigarette out before heading inside towards the Cap exhibit.

Once there, he wandered slowly, reading all the materials, before reaching a display that arrested his progress for several minutes longer than it should have. Man, that Bucky Barnes was one good-looking bastard, he had to admit, even though the grainy picture on the wall didn't flatter him. T. J. smirked at it, trying to picture what life would have been like if he'd been born gay in the 1940s, before realizing another man stood staring at the picture just as intently as he himself was.

The young man turned to scan his accidental companion. Rough, bleary, unshaven – he looked like T. J. after a bad weekend. A _good_ weekend, he corrected himself with a subtle grin.

The man's blue eyes, so like his own, flicked to him and back to the picture, and after clearing his throat, the stranger asked quietly, "'Scuse me. Are – are you his kid?" He jerked his chin at the giant picture of Barnes.

"What? No way, man. I'm only 32! Pfft." He turned to read Barnes' death date and calculate. "His kids would be at least, what, sixty?" What an ass. But he turned back and saw those eyes on him again.

"I thought maybe you were, because you look like him."

"Really? That's cool." T. J. turned back to the picture. "I would have liked to know him." This didn't mean he was some fanboy! No. He would have liked to _screw_ him, he meant. Barnes was sexy and badass.

And then he shifted his eyes from the stranger to the picture and drew in his breath. "A-are _you_ his kid?" he asked in a whisper, forgetting his earlier calculations.

The man bit his lip. "No," he replied, drawing closer. "I think that – is me."

"_Wh—"_ T. J. almost shouted in disbelief, but controlled himself. "Uh, he's – he's dead," he stammered, pointing at the dates, whispering again, but now noticing the uncanny resemblance between the man and the picture.

"I – I just don't know," the stranger confessed hoarsely. "Can't remember and don't know how to find out. That guy" – he jerked his chin towards Captain America's old uniform, mounted on the mannequin – "he might know, but I don't know how to get in touch with him. If I contact the government, they'll – they'll –"

Well, shit. T. J. knew exactly what kind of garbage the government would dish out. "Yeah." He moved closer, just to be able to whisper more, not because the idea of a hot, young-looking Bucky Barnes was turning him on! "B-but I might be able to help you find him." This last he said in such a low tone that he wasn't sure "Barnes" had heard him.

The blue eyes swiveled to meet his. "You know where he is?" This was little more than a breath, but T. J. caught it.

"No," he confessed. "But I know someone who does."

…

Back in his new little condo he offered his name and sat the distraught stranger gently on the couch, hoping his idea wouldn't backfire. "Do you want anything? Espresso?"

"What the hell's espresso?" the nervous man snapped out, and then rubbed a gloved hand over his face. "Sorry. I'm a little jumpy."

"Yeah, I get it. Just relax. Uh, espresso's like coffee, but stronger? I guess that's the best way to describe it." He moved to his expensive espresso machine and began brewing two cups.

T. J. still wasn't sure how to proceed. On the one hand, this man might be on the level. After all, if Captain America had survived this long, maybe something screwy had happened to his best friend that had kept him alive all this time as well. On the other hand, this guy might just be insane. Strangely, though, T. J. didn't really feel at risk from him. Either he was a harmless nutcase, or he was legit, he concluded to himself. "Hang on. I need to make a phone call."

"Who are you calling?" Barnes asked.

"My mom."

"Your _mom?_" The man jumped off the couch in anxiety. "Nobody can know I'm here!"

T. J. shushed him while holding the phone to his ear. "Sit down. Don't worry about it. She's the president. She'll know where to find him."

"President of what?"

"The United States! Just shush."

The soldier deflated back into his seat and snorted. "_Your mom_ is the _president._"

T. J. flapped his hand again and turned his attention to the phone. "Hey, Mom, it's me…Yeah…yeah, listen, everything's fine! I just need a favor…no, don't ask…I just need to know how I can get in touch with Steve Rogers…yes, _that_ Steve Rogers…No! Mom, nobody else can know about this. Not even Dad…._Especially_ not Dad." Hah. "Well, if you can get your people to send him to my place, that'd work…Yes, right now…Don't _ask!_" A few more sentences from his disbelieving mother and he was able to hang up.

"Sounds like that went well."

"Ah, she still treats me like a kid. Thinks I want his autograph."

Barnes snorted. "Bet he'd love that." Then he recoiled a little bit and shook his head violently.

"You okay?"

"Yeah, sorry. I just – I keep getting flashbacks, you know? I guess they're flashbacks. Don't know what's real and what isn't."

"It will be all right. From everything they say, Cap's a good guy – so even if you're not Bucky, I bet he would help you. He should be here in a little while. Probably incognito." T. J. sat next to him on the couch and patted his hand reassuringly. It felt really bony inside its glove.

But Bucky yanked his hand away in shock. "What are you doing? Are you some kind of – of _queer_?"

T. J. sighed. Might as well explain things; might as well roll with this as if it were all true. He sat forward with his elbows on his knees, chin in hand, staring across the room unseeing. "Well, yes, as a matter of fact, I am. Okay? Things have changed a lot since the '40s. It's still kind of a problem, but nothing like as bad as it used to be. We have gay movie stars, doctors, members of Congress…" His lip twisted as he recalled that heartless fucker Sean Reeves, but he leaned back against the cushions again to try to relax. "A lot of people are. Anyway, I was just doing it to show support, not trying to jump you."

Bucky actually laughed a little. "You try to jump me, you'll get a hell of a lot more than you bargained for." He flexed his fingers, looking at the glove.

"Yeah, well, sorry. But I have to tell you, you're one hot soldier, even if you are like seventy years old." T. J. sipped from his little espresso cup and smirked at his couch companion.

"Ninety-five," Barnes shot back with a grin.

"Christ, you're even older than my Nana." The two faces, so similar, smiled at each other with an ease like old friendship as they waited for Captain America.

But as the two of them relaxed on the couch, talking quietly, mostly about the modern world, he found himself hoping that this was all true, and that Rogers could help this man, allegedly his oldest and best friend. T. J. liked him, no matter who he actually was. Liked his smile and even the way he wore his hair. Maybe he too would grow his hair out long, one of these days.

"What I don't understand," he asked during a lull, "is, if you are Bucky Barnes, how are you still so – so _young-looking_ after all this time? I just don't get it."

Barnes then told him a story about the serum that had been used on Captain America, and how that shitty Hydra organization had captured him and experimented with their own version. "I don't understand it either, though. I mean, from what I've read in that museum thing, Steve was frozen for a long time; his plane crashed and he froze, but he didn't die."

T. J. nodded. He remembered reading that.

"But," Barnes went on, "I don't understand – don't _remember_ – how I would have lived this long. Does the serum make people immortal, or nearly so? I don't know. Wasn't in a position to ask that bastard Zola, and never really had time to chat about it with Steve before – before – "

Well, if the guy was delusional, he was certainly thorough in his story. T. J. nodded again and got up to make more espresso. "I really hope you can sort things out. This is some very twisted mind-fuckery."

"You have no idea."

T. J. brought two cups of espresso back to the couch just as the bell rang. "Hide," he hissed. "She might have sent the goddamn Secret Service with him." Bucky's eyes widened and he ducked into the hallway.

But only one man, in jeans and a white tee, stood framed in the open door. Yep. That was Steve Rogers all right. Matched the newsreels, matched the photos, matched the fantas— "T. J. Hammond?" he asked, with a startled expression. "You _are _T. J. Hammond?"

"Uh, yeah, that's me. Who did you expect?"

Rogers cleared his throat. "You know who I am?"

"Yeah, I mean, I'm the one who asked you to come here." Damn, that man was fine. T. J. shot him a flirtatious smile, but Rogers didn't react to it at all.

"The President said you had a – " He froze again, this time staring into the hallway. "Buck?" he asked hoarsely.

"Get in here," T. J. hissed, yanking the supersoldier inside by the arm. He let go to close and lock the door behind them. When he turned back, Barnes and Rogers were locked in a stare that he couldn't even break by waving his hand between them. "Hello?" he asked unnecessarily. "I guess you do know him."

Rogers nodded slowly but didn't answer. Neither did Bucky.

"Uh? Y-you want some coffee, St—Rogers?" It didn't feel right to call him "Steve" as if they were old friends.

"No. No coffee. Bucky," Rogers pleaded, reaching out a hand. "Is it really you?"

Bucky bit his lip and nodded. "I – I think so. S-Steve, I need help," he confessed quickly, "I don't know where to go or what to do. I need to find out the truth!" His voice had risen to a shout.

"Shh!" T. J. moved to lay a soothing hand on his left arm. The man reacted with a massive punch and he flew across the room to land on his ass. "Jesus, man! I was just – "

But Rogers was already at T. J.'s side, helping him up. "He didn't mean it. He's troubled."

"No shit." The President's son rubbed his chest where the hit had landed and spoke to Bucky directly. "I told you before, I wasn't trying – "

Barnes interrupted, shoving a hand through his unruly hair. "I know. I _am_ sorry. It's a reflex." He held out the other hand towards T. J., who, at a loss, risked shaking it. "Shouldn't have done it. Thank you for taking care of me, helping me out. You've been good to me, better than I had any right to expect from a total stranger."

Appreciatively, Rogers nodded in agreement. "I've been looking for you for a long time, Buck. Got a safe place for you, and friends who can help with that." He gazed pointedly at Barnes' left arm. "Will you come with me and let us help you?"

"Steve, I don't think I could bear it if – "

Rogers reached out tenderly and laid a hand on the other man's shoulder. "I won't let them hurt you, Bucky. I'm with you to the end of the line, remember?"

Bucky's eyes widened and he nodded, reaching his gloved hand up to cover Rogers' where it still rested on his shoulder. "O-okay. I – I'm ready. If you promise."

"I do promise. You have my word. If they want to hurt you, they'll have to take us both down."

T. J. grew a little maudlin at this strong evidence of their lifelong friendship. He turned away to give them a little more privacy, but Bucky's next words surprised him.

"C-can you wait in the hallway, Steve? I have something I'd like to say to T. J. in private."

"Sure." Steve Rogers grinned that megawatt grin and stepped outside the door. "Just come out when you're ready. And thanks, T. J. I owe you one."

"No problem." They watched Steve pull the door shut and T. J. turned back to Bucky. "He will help you, you know. Even if you aren't his old friend."

"I know that I am. I've seen enough, triggered enough memories, to know that now. The sight of him – yeah. But then, what I've done since then, what I am now – that, I don't understand yet. Hopefully his friends can help."

"I hope so. Let me know if there's anything else I can do." T. J. still felt a strange connection with this man, and reached out to shake his hand once more.

"It might not be safe for you. My past – " Barnes dropped the subject and the hand, and T. J. was wise enough not to inquire further.

When Bucky stepped closer to him, he didn't recoil, even though he now knew what kind of strength the soldier wielded. Stilling, he felt the gloved hand slide up the back of his skull, sensed the warmth of the other man's body. He inadvertently licked his lips.

"Kiss me," Bucky asked him nervously. "Like you were going to seduce me."

"Wh-_what?"_

Bucky looked intensely flustered, but held his gaze bravely. "Think of it as a very special thank-you? I admit I'm kind of curious; you're gorgeous, and I may never get this chance again."

T. J. didn't hesitate. As serious as death, he cupped the other man's cheeks, leaning forward, and tried to give Bucky Barnes the best romantic kiss of his life, a kiss that would echo in his memory as long as he lived, one that the man would fantasize about when he was alone someday…Eyes closing, he savored the touch; Barnes' lips were so fine, warm and so responsive…he automatically slipped his tongue out and the soldier shoved him away, but not angrily.

"Uh. Yeah, th-that's enough," Bucky stammered out, running a hand through his hair in agitation. "Thanks."

No shit. T. J. felt lucky he hadn't been slammed across the room again. He tried to shrug it off with a grin. "Sorry. Got a little carried away with you, with the idea of you…"

"It – it wasn't bad," Barnes admitted with a little smirk. "Maybe if – if I could let go enough to be with a man that way…well, you'd be right at the top of my list, but I think you understand that I can't do that. Not yet."

"_Top_ of the list?" His smile grew crazed. _Fuck you, Rob Pattinson!_ "I do understand."

"You're a good man, and I bet you'd be worth the effort." Bucky backed away, towards Rogers and his future. "Thanks for the help, and stay strong."

"You too." T. J. smiled, feeling higher than ever before, and watched as James Buchanan Barnes strode out his front door.

Maybe tomorrow he'd join a gym.


End file.
